Voices in the Dark
by ValandMarcelle
Summary: The Refuge is silent. Crutchie's mind is not. (deaf!Crutchie in the Refuge because I apparently love making everyone sad)


**I really hope I still have readers left.**

 **I am so, so, SO sorry that I have basically been missing in action for nearly a year. I have been super busy, but I know that should not be an excuse. I should have been writing, and I just never made/had the time to do it. But today I decided to get back on track. I want to get back into the swing of things, and I am starting today. This piece is a continuation of my Speaking Volumes universe, in which Crutchie is deaf as well as disabled. And...now he's in the Refuge. Yeah, I know. I wish I could say that I'm sorry, but I'm a sucker for feels.**

 **I hope this story makes sense, and doesn't ramble too much. I tried to structure it a bit, but please let me know if it's too rushed.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Marcelle**

* * *

The silence is stronger here.

In theory, Crutchie knows, it should not be any more quiet here than anywhere else. His condition should not change based upon location. To be deaf is to be deaf.

And yet, the Refuge silence carries more weight than anywhere else he's ever been.

Crutchie glances around the small, cramped room in front of him, wondering how this place has survived so long without falling apart. The floorboards are rotting, the window is cracked in almost every way possible, and the mattresses have been worn down until they are practically string. Everything about the Refuge screams of hopelessness and bears the scent of giving up. The sight of it is almost unbearable.

But Crutchie refuses to close his eyes.

It could be so easy. He could squeeze his eyes tight and never open them again. He could block out the Refuge entirely if he truly wanted to. And if Crutchie is honest with himself, there is a part of him that wants to curl up into a ball and pretend that the bunk he is lying on is his bed back in the lodging house. He is there instead of here. The boys are with him, and Jack is there, and Crutchie is home.

It could be so, so easy.

But even though his eyes are always brimming over with the burden of his thoughts, Crutchie never closes them. He refuses to let himself forget this place. His sight has always been his greatest strength, and if he gives up this power so willingly now, then he is practically begging the Refuge to break him like a bone. And he cannot allow that to happen, because he knows that if he crumples and bruises and shatters here, then Jack will, too. Crutchie will not let the Refuge hurt Jack anymore.

His big brother has tried time and time again to explain this place to Crutchie over the years, but his less-than-perfect sign language has never been able to truly capture just how much evil is contained within these splintered walls. But each time Jack has attempted to spell out his warnings, a few choice words have always managed to find their way into Crutchie's brain with an impenetrable permanence. Words that painted the very picture Crutchie sees before him now, ones that match the drawings he had peaked at when Jack wasn't looking. Words like "dark," and "dirty," and "small."

Words like "fear."

And Jack's eyes would cloud over at that word, and he would start to turn away from Crutchie, as though to spare him from the sight of a boy who had been broken by the Refuge. But Crutchie would place a hand on his shoulder and offer his brightest smile, reassuring his friend that he was not afraid, that he would never see Jack as anything less than brave and strong and, on more than one occasion, almost heroic. The Refuge may have broken Jack, but he could build himself back up again. Crutchie believes that of Jack Kelly more than he has believed anything else, and his brother has come so close to putting that part of his life behind him. But now that Crutchie is here, Jack will be forced to unlock those sealed-away memories, a feat that will require more strength than he may possess. And so Crutchie knows that it is his job to give up some of his own courage, the courage that only his sight can provide him.

But it is hard to keep staring straight ahead when there are nothing but nightmares to meet your gaze.

The other boys here have seem to caught on to Crutchie's condition well enough, and spare themselves the trouble of verbal insults by instead shooting obscene gestures his way whenever they can. From what he can understand, they are relishing in the fact that he has not one disability, but two, marking him as a bigger target than they're used to. Double the faults means double the fun, according to the Refuge boys. They do not take pity on him. No, they make sure Crutchie feels twice as useless than he does on a regular basis. And the smile on Snyder's face as he drags Crutchie from the room, tripping him over his own crutch and shouting things he can never understand, makes it clear that Crutchie means less than nothing to them.

He can't provide them with information if he can't speak, and he can't hear the threats of what they'll do to him if he does not comply. So Snyder does not waste his breath, but does not get rid of Crutchie like he expects. Snyder must know that as long as Crutchie is here, Jack will not be far behind. He must know that Crutchie Morris cannot run away like Jack Kelly can.

Crutchie tries so hard to keep his eyes open as fists are thrown into his stomach and kicks are aimed directly at his bad leg. He tries so hard to let Morris and Oscar know that they will not knock the will out of him that easily.

But the pain is blinding.

Crutchie fights to keep his eyes open when he is finally, mercifully returned to his room. It feels as though several centuries have passed as the aftermath of the beating pulses through his body. Closing his eyes would help to calm him, help to steady the erratic pounding of his heart. But Crutchie refuses to be anything less than resilient, and focuses on a knot in the wood of the weak rooftop above him as he feels his breath slowly returning back to it's original rhythm. There has to be something he can do-anything to let his mind slip away from this prison and back to the home he's left behind.

Crutchie wants nothing more than to talk to Jack, to have an actual conversation with him that doesn't involve sign language or well-timed glances or knowing smiles. He's wished for this before, of course, but has never wanted it with this much intensity. He needs to talk to Jack, now more than ever. And it's then that he remembers the lessons.

Years ago, Jack had tried to teach Crutchie to write. It had been difficult, seeing as Jack hadn't particularly been a master at the craft, but his efforts had been more or less effective. Of course, Crutchie has never had an opportunity to use them until now, but he knows that he still remembers how to form the letters simply from muscle-memory. After all, he had practiced for hours long after Jack had fallen asleep, hoping to impress the other boy by finally being useful. He can't hear, and he can't walk, but Crutchie Morris can write like no one's business.

And so he does.

Crutchie scribbles on the rough paper well into the night, hoping against hope that the scratches of the pencil aren't loud enough to wake the other boys. He gets so absorbed in his work that he barely notices the dimming light of the candle, and doesn't realize that it's almost morning until the other boy in his bunk kicks him, holding a finger as though to shush him. But Crutchie has yet to find a perfect ending, so he ignores the order and instead fishes through his mind for the right word to use.

 _Your brother,_

 _Crutchie._

Sunlight peaks through both the windows and cracks in the walls by the time Crutchie is through with his masterpiece, and he folds a neat crease in the center of the paper. The letter is by far the longest piece Crutchie has ever written, and he's sure Jack will be proud of the effort he's made. That is...if the letter ever even gets to him.

The realization that he has no way to deliver the letter opens a floodgate of despair that washes over Crutchie, and he finds the corners of his eyes pricking familiarly. No, he can't cry here. He's gotten this far without crying, because he knows it will only add fuel to the fire of the other boys' taunts. But Jack and the newsies just seem to slip further out of Crutchie's grip day by day, and he isn't sure how much longer he can stand apart from them. He will not let the Refuge become his home. That much Crutchie is sure of, but still...what he wouldn't give to see just one of his brothers now.

At first, Crutchie thinks he's hallucinating when Specs' curls come popping up outside the window.

But then he sees the other boys point and stare, and Crutchie feels his face light up in a grin that hasn't surfaced in days. He's had no reason to smile yet, but the sight of Specs makes him want to laugh and cry and dance, if he could, all at the same time. Because Specs is proof-actual, tangible proof-that his family hasn't forgotten him. They aren't going to let him rot here forever, they haven't given up on him yet. Because if Specs is here, then Jack must have sent him, and that alone lifts Crutchie's spirits in a way that nothing else can.

Specs looks hurriedly around the room before he locates Crutchie, who is climbing down the ladder of the bunk bed as quickly and carefully as he can. He limps his way over to the window, ignoring the way Specs' features crinkle in worry before relaxing into a soft smile. He holds up his hands and begins to sign out a few words, and Crutchie is grateful that Specs has been chosen as the messenger. Out of all the boys in the lodging house, he has always been the best at sign language.

 _Are you okay?_

 _Hi, Specs! Yeah, I'm fine! What are you doing here?_

 _I came to make sure that you were still...alright. We're so sorry we couldn't help you._

 _It's okay, I'm not mad at you. I know you would have if you had been able to._

 _Well we miss you, Crutchie. Jack especially._

 _Jack? Did he send you here?_

 _No. He hasn't been himself since the strike. He's quiet. Guilty, I think._

 _Oh, no...Well, if you see him, can you give him this? He's got to know that it's not his fault. I'll see him when you guys win the strike!_

Specs's smile fades a bit as he quietly opens the window to take the letter, and Crutchie feels his heart drop along with it. What is Specs not telling him?

 _Yeah, of course. You bet, Crutchie. Just...stay strong, okay?_

 _I will, Specs. I promise. And tell the boys I said hi, alright?_

 _I'll tell them. We'll see you real soon, pal._

 _Okay, Specs. And thanks._

The other boy waves a last goodbye before ducking back down the fire escape and onto the streets below. Crutchie wishes nothing more than to go with him, but he knows that to try now would only prove to be more dangerous. His leg is getting worse by the minute, as though it knows that it is surrounded by pain and is simply trying to join in. And so Crutchie stays put, his faith in Specs enough to carry him through the rest of the day. Jack will get the letter.

He'll read it, and he'll finally understand what Crutchie has always been trying to tell him. Jack and his dreams of Santa Fe are the reason why Crutchie can play the part of the beloved optimist, no matter what the situation. Jack's life has been filled with nothing but hardship, and yet he still has dreams of a better place where he can finally be happy. And until he gets there, Crutchie wants to make it as easy as possible. If Jack can't be happy yet, then Crutchie will simply have to be happy for him-for everyone in the lodging house, really. They need someone to bring light into their lives, and Crutchie doesn't mind being that person. It gives him a purpose, a reason to smile despite being given plenty of other reasons to frown. Jack dreams of Santa Fe, and Crutchie dreams of going there with him, of seeing the Jack Kelly that has the bright eyes and the easy grin that Crutchie knows is within him.

He's never been able to say it, but Crutchie hopes that Jack has understood that all this time. And if he hasn't, then maybe the letter will help. Maybe the letter can be the voice Crutchie has never had.

Crutchie doesn't know how long he will stay in the Refuge. He doesn't know how long he will have to sit in the overwhelming, crushing silence that this place bears. He doesn't know when he will see his friends, his brothers again, or even whether he will see them at all.

But now, Crutchie finds it easier to keep his eyes open. He looks out the window, where the skyline is burning with the colors of the sun, and knows that someday, he will see freedom again. Because even though he is hurt, and he is scared, and he is alone, Crutchie is not weak. He will not be blind to the truth of this place, to the truth of this life.

Even though the road may be dark, and silent, there will always be a voice to lead the way. Crutchie Morris has finally found his.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for sticking with me for my far-too-prolongued absence. I really hope I can redeem myself future stories and/or collaborations! I hope to start a series with Deaf!Crutchie, so look forward to that. I also plan to write some stories for Tuck Everlasting: The Musical, in case anyone is interested in that. Don't forget to review! Prompts would be welcomed...in fact, I would view them as a peace offering, haha! Thanks for reading!**


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